Of All Tyrannies
by frigginA
Summary: Love was something for the weak. It was something a God simply won't commit to. He longed for Kami's affection, he yearned to hear the sweet lips speak his name in the heat of passion...But that was simply not to be. Christmas LightXMikami


Merry Christmas!! 3 I hope you all have a good one.

**Pairing: **LightXMikami

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His fingers danced across the vast expanse of milky skin. Brutal, wild, a frenzied ballad as it marred the surface on which it landed. So delicate were these appendages,

elegant and slender; yet savage as they dug into the flesh, drawing tiny red dots of copper and inducing cries of pain and pleasure from a voice already hoarse with longing. The once tranquil night—long shattered with sounds of pleas, of begging, of infinite sobs and agony—wore on as hands roamed freely in the beams of the still moonlight. Silky sheets, once white, became stained with red from the very drops of life now freely flowing from scratches and reopened wounds as the assaults on his body continued…

A relentless but sweet torture.

Yet no complaints were heard. No demands to stop or whines of being torn apart. Two voices blended together in a fractured, perverse harmony; one, a low baritone of a well matured man, punctured frequently by breathy moans and hisses as sharp pains followed the sweet incantations of love; the other, a staccato of curses, of wild accusations and cries of pleasure, poisoned by the very darkest roots of hate.

Eyes met in a brief moment clouded by insatiable lust. Pupils of brown flashed a deep ruby as they locked with the innocent tints of cerulean that spoke of bottomless adoration.

Mikami smiled up at his God with lids half closed in both deluded pain and happiness. Arching his abused body to God's harsh caresses—or perhaps to ease the tension on his bloodied back—their bodies came together in the most delectable way. The servant wound his fingers gently through his master's hair, perspiration dampening their bodies as Kira licked and bit at the crook of Mikami's neck, intent on marking the man as his. Fingers prodded the circle of muscles at the entrance, shoving roughly into the man without even a brief moment of hesitation or consideration for the other's comforts. They've already done this once tonight…but once certainly wasn't enough for the blood thirsty God. The iron taste of the fresh red substance in his mouth as he bit too hard only drew Kira on. It was like a stimulant, a drug. A hiss of pain escaped swollen lips as the fingers expanded from each other, stretching the muscles for easier access. The appendages extracted, and the pain ebbed, only to be replaced immediately by something much bigger. Mikami screamed, a strangled sound of ecstasy and the utmost of torture; but it fell on deft ears. For Kira didn't have sex for love. Sexual intercourse, for him, was simply a method of reducing tension and, more importantly, an act of power. Oh how he loved watching the older lawyer squirm beneath his skilled hands, reduced to nothing but a writhing mass as fingers found their way to his throbbing shaft.

Thus when Kira smiled, he smiled for more reasons than just pleasure alone. The corners of his lips quirked to see the wild thrashings as Mikami groped for something of substance. They inclined further to the sight of the droplets of blood forming on the lithe body and another crimson pool flowing between his legs. Kira smiled down at his prey, the moonlight creating the illusion of a halo against his auburn strands. Never had he felt closer to being God than when this beautiful man melted to his every whim, his every perverted fantasy. The blood did not dither him in the least. In his eyes, the ruby drops washed away sin, cleansing everything in its path. The people of this world were full of sin and wrong-doings, not exempting even his followers. He needed to bring them down from their greedy pedestals; he _must _bring them down. It was for the good of the world. Kira was doing this for Mikami's own good. The crimson blood that flowed will cover his imperfections, repairing his soul.

Another scream broke the night; another unspoken plea for mercy. Nails dug into tender wounds and flesh. They clawed at Mikami's chest as Kira pounded into his pawn mercilessly. Every thrust punctuated by a moan; a husky grunt of lust, a whisper on not promises, but threats and orders. For Mikami was merely his puppet; and he, the puppeteer.

The pace quickened. His furious thrusts matched that of the digits stroking along the length of his doll's trembling flesh. Mikami's hips bucked into the slender fingers, begging for completion. Chest heaving, Kira watched as beads of sweat, mixed with blood, traveled down to the smooth navle of his servant's body. He observed through heavy lidded eyes as the tempo increased, noting the flush of pain and arousal apparent in Mikami's face as the man's eyes slipped close. Drawing out once more—even farther this time—Light pounded back into the tight compartment with force enough to bruise. Slippery hands clamped down on Mikami's hips, soaking up the tremors and uncontrollable spasms coursing through his veins. Moans and grunts of pleasure heightened his sense, leading to an increase in pace and a more intense pressure on Mikami's prostrate. This, in turn, led to more cries. It was like a dominoes effect, where one action spurred another, all leading towards the same goal, the shared desire for completion.

Mikami gave first, being the weaker of the two. He couldn't match against God after all, and he would be a fool to try. Emitting a throaty gasp and a cry of his beloved's name, he came against their stomachs. A fiery heat engulfed Kira as the muscles tightened impossibly over his aching need. Tension built in the pit of his stomach and gradually grew as each plunder into the tight cave brought him closer to the edge. With a final thrust, black spots blocked out his vision as Kira cried out in ecstasy, fingernails digging sharply into Mikami's shoulder blades.

Even through such an aggressive climax, the God was able to keep a tight reign over his thoughts, apparent in the fact that his cry was not of a name, and those hazy eyes, so lidded with lust, never closed. A name would have tarnished his image. It would have given the false sign that Kira needed Mikami…and that definitely wasn't the case—or what he believed to be the case, at least. God didn't need anyone; he was omnipotent and relied only on himself. Depending on others would be his weakness and downfall. A closing of the eyes would have left him vulnerable. Exposed even to the briefest moments of blindness, anything could happen. There was a reason most crimes and deaths occurred at night. Darkness was like a shroud, blanketing all acts of sin from watchful eyes. Kira feared that closing his eyes would lead to unexpected events—death, perhaps?

There could be a chance Mikami was hiding a knife on his person. Kira didn't dismiss this notion, however ridiculous it may sound. The cruel ways he had been treating his slave was more than enough to entice such actions. Or mayhaps the temporary blindness might lead to something even more horrible. Love, maybe?

For those reasons alone, Kira kept his eyes opened as he collapsed on top of Mikami, drawing in ragged breathes as their chests heaved in unison. A moment passed, and Kira regained himself as he pulled out of Mikami. Without a word to his partner, Kira picked his shirt off the floor, sliding it with slight difficulty over his slender body. Same ritual was performed on his pants, donned in merely a matter of seconds.

"Kami…?" A frain voice, hoarse yet still enriched with longing.

Kira turned, his jacket already halfway on as he gazed coldly back as his tool. Eyes, silver in the moonlight, narrowed as the only form of acknowledgment.

The three words died in his throat as Mikami was met with such an intense glare. Saying them now would only lead to bitter rejection. Altering what he was originally planning would be the best option in this case. The man stood, willing his aching limbs slowly towards his God. "Will I…see you again?"

Kira stood still, eyes connecting and locking with Mikami's desperate orbs; his own hardened, betraying no emotion. It wasn't any secret how the lawyer felt about him. A part of Kira wanted to apologize as he stared into those pits of despair; he was ultimately human after all. But that was only a small part of him; a part that could only be described as a soft purr in comparison to the dull roar that love is for the weak. Yanking on the rest of his jacket, Kira turned, wrenching open the door.

"Of course you will." Stepping into the blistering cold, God turned one last time to look at his servant, "But it's only sex…A way to relieve tension. Remember that, Mikami. Don't be so foolish as to think this could be anything more."

Final words spoken, he departed, the door closing firmly on a staggering Mikami behind him. The room felt suffocating. The solid door blocked him from seeing the only person he's ever desired attention from. But he knew. He knew Kira was a God and he, only a mere pawn in God's hands. Someone as filthy and unworthy as him would never be able to earn love from such a holy being. Opening the door that separated them, Mikami peered out into the dark night. The wind whipped his hair around his worn face as he stared after the retreating silhouette. Kami didn't give him anything again this year—not that it was unusual. And he, from experience, learned that anything he'd give his God would be soon discarded to a side. So instead, Mikami watched as the graceful figure made its way farther and farther from him, the only thing the lawyer had to offer this year was his affections. Hoping, wishing, praying that his Kami would feel his gaze and turn around; longing for the sensation of those sturdy arms around him and for whispered promises and sweet words.

Against his better judgment, Kira turned before he rounded the corner to look at the forlorn house once more. It was to his surprise that he saw Mikami peeking out the door at him, not yet dressed. This caught him off guard, and without his knowing, a small smile of amusement played across his lips, only noticed by the ever observant Mikami.

Mikami, frozen with shock—the cold also contributed to it—didn't react in time before his Kami turned the corner and was out of sight. Blue eyes, no longer depressed, lighted with a renewed passion as the servant smiled to the empty streets.

"Merry Christmas, Light."

But these words were, as all other things, lost in the wind.


End file.
